


Endless

by tofus



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, On the Run, POV Alternating, Rebirth, Slow Burn, Time Skips, rate m for future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofus/pseuds/tofus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With that sole bullet, with that last pull of the trigger, seven years' worth of strife erupts in a swirl of metal and smoke.</p><p>"Like I said, you don't need a reason to live. You just live." Their footprints are washed from the shore.</p><p>Unspoken words with clear meaning. Let's be reborn. Let's start anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T WANT IT TO END  
> This fic will be my guilty pleasure until I can finally pull myself up from that slobbering mess the ending turned me into...

 

 

 

In all twenty-one years of his life, Nero Vanetti has never been to the ocean. Yet now, here he is. The sun is shrouded by gray clouds above. His shoes sink deep into the sand. Up ahead is the swaying form of Avilio melding into the sea breeze.

If he closes his eyes, he can hear the shuffling of their footsteps. The soft breathing. One by one the waves crash on to the shore, reminding Nero that even gentle things hold violence.  _Shaa. Shaa._

"The reason I didn't kill you," only one set of feet continue, "Was because I didn't want to." 

Nero watches as the white of the other's dress shirt shrinks into the distance. He pulls out a revolver. Points. Aims.

Bang - !

With that sole bullet, with that last pull of the trigger, seven years' worth of strife erupts in a swirl of metal and smoke. All the while, the tides continue to roll.

Hazel eyes widen. Specks of gold sparkle where dull pools once lay.

"Like I said, you don't need a reason to live. You just live." Their footprints are washed from the shore.

This time, it is Avilio that stays still. The eldest Vanetti son, or should it be the  _only_  Vanetti son now, sets forth his trudge to the future, no matter how crippled it may seem. Blue eyes peer past into the dimmed horizon. 

“You...missed.”

Nero pauses, turns around. 

“No I didn't." Soft. Light. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "Angelo Lagusa is finally dead. He was shot and killed by Nero Vanetti.” With that, he jumps into the wet sand theatrically, watching as his shoes dig into the muddy clumps, footprints eaten by hungry tides. Rolls the legs of his pants up. He waves a hand with his back to the shell of a man behind him. "With this, the cycle is now broken. Haah, how I'd kill for a drink."

"...Nero."

"Shh. Dead people can't talk." Nero can picture the look of cold displeasure settling on the other's face. He feels his lips tighten. A small quirk of the mouth."But now...if there was, say, a rebirth of some kind." A few gulls break through the skies. "How nice. Maybe I'd be reborn as a farmer." He clasps his hands together, fingers locking and cradling behind his head. Days of peace and quiet, untouched by red violence, gray smoke. Just the greens of the crops, the brown of the earth. The blue of the sky.

How nice.

"Please, don't follow me." His own voice sounds alien to him, low and trembling. "I don't know what I would do."

He likes to think the waves wash away their existence, like they do their footprints. Cleanse them of seven years' worth of sins. So when the smooth baritone of Avilio's voice teases his ears once more, he lets it fade.

 

 

 

~*~ 

 

 

 

Eight months pass in the most taxing of ways. With one of the most powerful families of the underworld chasing him like a hound, Nero has no choice but to lay low. He skips town every few days. Barely a day passes when he gets a good lick of sleep. Eight months crawl on, but from the bags of his eyes, the dull of his skin, to the paling roots of his hair, calling it eight months seems to be an understatement.

He's considered changing his last name, but doesn't. Perhaps this is the last embers of defiance toward the Galassias. Even so, not a moment goes by that Nero proclaims aloud he is a Vanetti.

Rough hands slip into pants pockets. They pull out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.  _Clink clink._

It's well into evening, orange and reds bleeding into the horizon. Nero watches as the gray wisps of cigarette smoke escape into the atmosphere. He leans against the brick wall of the diner he just ventured in, throwing his head back.

"Excuse me, but have you seen this man?"

Well. There's his sign to go. Across the street stands a man in a dark coat and hat. A glint of metal can be seen in his coat pocket. Nero hops into his automobile, driving off into the distance. The sleepy glow of the moon illuminates the road. He reaches into his pockets again, but this time the pads of his fingers miss the cool of metal.

"Ah, that's great."

He shoots a glance at the empty passenger seat in front. Frowns. Rolls the windows down.

Even though the man is miles from the ocean, for some reason his nostrils pick up the sour, salty stench of the sea. Nero breathes it in, not quite liking it. But he doesn't roll the windows back up, either.

He parks the car off the road, in between long thick trees and fluttering shadows. It's not like he wants to sleep in the car, but what choice does he have? Low on cash and void of any allies, was there any other option?

"What am I doing," says Nero. He curls his body up in the back seat, cheeks settling into the hard cushion. Knees bent somewhat close to his chest. His back is going to hurt later, he can already feel it.

"Goodnight," he says, to no one in particular.

 

 

 

 ~*~

 

 

 

It's a well-lit, spacious house, but that's what makes it worse.

"Nero, go check the upstairs." Dressed in a dark overcoat and matching hat and shoes, the eldest Vanetti son complies with his father's orders. He tears himself away from that mess in front of him, three bodies sprawled over the hard wood floor. Two of them are entangled with one another, the red of life trickling out through openings on their flesh. Nero can almost feel the warmth slip past the thin linen and cotton, and then he remembers his father's words.

"This child will never forget what happened tonight."

Right. He has a job to do. The darker corners of the house beckon him. In his rush he passes what seems to be a child's room. The bed is small and untidy, and a box with toys spilling out sits next to a drawer. Nero pulls himself out of there.

Somehow he finds himself in the storage. It's dusty, dark grays and browns popping through the items shelved neatly in thin spaces. In the corner of his eyes he sees a blue wrapped present. And then he hears someone bolting though the door and foot steps.

Catch him. He needs to catch him. Nero slips out of the house, slips into the fuzzy darkness that that child is trying his best to escape to. He pulls out a revolver. Points. Aims.

The night falls.

 

 

 

 ~*~

 

 

 

He wakes up, blue eyes adjusting to the glare of the sun. His neck and back ache. His hair feels like a bird's nest.

A yawn escapes from dry, chapped lips. 

"I'm hungry." Nero sighs, dropping his gaze at the dusty flooring. He picks himself up from the back seat.

The drive to the next town is a quiet one. His automobile rolls through long, twisting dirt roads. However, the buildings look well-maintained. There's a cheap diner, at least. Before stopping by for a bite to eat, though, Nero finds himself parking his car across the street from a large cathedral.

There's something bubbling in his chest, tongue heavy and dry as he pushes the large door open in front of him. An urge to just rush in is quelled by the piercing silence. The lights are off, candles snuffed out, but the glow of the sun rains down through the large stained glass windows. His nostrils catch the thick of incense. Nero takes a few steps forward. The soft tap of heel hitting floor echoes through the wide space, shadows bowing over as if asking for forgiveness.

Small cherub-like statues adorn the peripheral columns. Nero wonders if they can see the darkness swirling around him. At the end of the room stands a podium, showered by light. Yellows, reds, blues, greens. These shades of color trickle down from the towering stained glass window behind it, and at the center is a lone figure.

It is far away and hunches over, almost as if in prayer. Nero approaches sparingly, not quite sure why he is still in motion, when the figure flips around.

"You..." And then he throws his face into his palms. Groans. Or, is it a chuckle? "This must be a bad dream."

"Why are you here, Nero?"

"I could ask you the same question." The brunet coughs into his sleeve. There's a mixture of emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. It's confusing, and Nero is not quite sure how to take it. He realizes his hands are shaking, rolls them into fists. A sudden thought, a memory flashes through his mind. "How does it feel to be reborn?"

"Angelo Lagusa is no more."

"Ah -"

"But, so is Avilio Bruno."

"Then, pray tell, who are you?" A good ten seconds crawl by before the silence is disrupted.

"Just Avilio will be fine."

He realizes he hasn't moved any closer to the younger man, still locked in a stalemate of sorts. Avilio's eyes seem to glow even more gold in the dim lighting. They are unblinking, like Nero remembers. But, unlike with his memories, the gaze is no longer stagnant.

"You've changed," says Nero.

For the first time since entering the cathedral, he sees Avilio avert his gaze. Because of this, the last remaining Vanetti is able to study the youth in front of him. His dark hair has grown longer, curling slightly by his neck. His lashes splay like a fan above his eyes. There's a beauty mark on his earlobe and -  _oh_. Clear, striking gold meets with chilled blue.

"And so have you." He pauses, doing a quick once-over. "Although you've certainly looked better."

"That wounds me."

"You'll live."

"But, what are you doing  _here_? In a cathedral, I mean."

"I came to see if I try to repent, would I feel anything?" His gold gaze is directed at the empty benches. "But it seems like I've been mistaken. No one is here."

And Nero throws his head back and laughs.

"T-that's because it's past visiting time." He sneaks a glance at the other while still holding his stomach. "I can imagine you just standing there for hours and hours."

"I did not," says Avilio. But his lips are a bit tighter than usual and, perhaps by trick of the lighting, a hint of pink dust could just be seen on his cheeks. Just a bit.

"Are you staying?" Nero doesn't wait for an answer, though. He spins on his heel and heads back to the large, heavy door up front. The quicker he moves, the better. A low rumble reverberates from the pit of his stomach. He feels restless all of a sudden, a rush of energy zipping through his veins like lightning.

And when his ears catch the pita-pat of an extra set of footsteps trailing after his, Nero swears he doesn't smile. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Nero doesn't look behind, but the gentle shuffling of the other's footsteps gives Avilio’s presence away.

"These days," a soft sigh escapes from chapped lips and he licks them. “Do you sleep?”

"Do you?" says Avilio.

He doesn't ask why the younger man's following him. After that day eight months ago, the shackles that tied their pasts together had long since been broken.

"You’re a free man now," says Nero, grimacing at how the other just ignores his statement. Well, knowing him, Avilio is probably pretending not to hear.

One of the things that had drawn Nero to the younger man in the beginning was his ability to keep up a wall of indifference. Maybe it's because Nero himself found it hard to mask his emotions. Or, rather that he just couldn't care less. You want the things you don't have, seems to be the bastardized version of this situation.

Avilio trails behind him. It's almost as if he's purposely leaving some space, some semblance of distance, between the two of them. Or, is it being done unconsciously? There's a sway to the other's gait, a slide to his stride, and Nero can't bring himself to pull farther ahead. But, he's also not slowing down, either.

Never has Nero imagined he would one day walk down the same streets with the catalyst of his whole family's demise. Moreover, that he wouldn't be entirely opposed to his existence, either. Instead, and this is something he would never allow to be said aloud, he feels calm and relieved and...afraid. Afraid of _what?_  For now he’s not so sure.

The scent of grilled meat teases their nostrils.

“How about a bite to eat?” Nero pushes the door to the diner slightly ajar, watching as the impassive face of the other morphs into one of modest surprise. It’s a small victory, he'd admit it; it's not every day one gets to shake the younger man up -

“Are you coming?” Sharp hazel orbs stare into his own. Since when did Avilio get in front of him?

“...Yeah.”

The place is nothing special: drab brown booths, white and black checkered tiles, and a cream counter. They choose a corner seating, away from the windows, but close enough to the back exit.

Nero and Avilio sit across from one another. The younger man is sipping a cup of coffee, pulling faces at the bitter taste. He drops a couple of sugar cubes in. A couple more.

The last remaining Vanetti just sits and continues to stare at the other, lost in thought, until the waitress places their orders on the table.

“I didn't know you swing that way.”

The meat is kind of burnt and he isn't sure if he's hungry anymore -

“What?”

“Don't you get tired of looking at me?”

“I, I'm _not_. Looking at you, I mean.” Great, now he's really lost his appetite. No use in wasting food, though. Nero cuts off a large chunk of the steak. Stuffs it into his mouth.

Avilio doesn’t seem to miss a beat, mirroring the elder man in inhaling his food. There’s no awkward pause, no break in his rhythm, movements so smooth like running water yet robotic in its clockwork. Like he just eats to live. Like he just lives because he’s living.

Then again, couldn’t it be said that Avilio followed Nero’s words fully from that day?

He’s definitely not feeling a tinge of pride from that.

There are so many questions, so many things Nero wants uncovered about the man sitting across from him, if only to reign in and understand his own emotions. That he was right. That he hadn’t been wrong, after all.

He scoffs, appalled by his own crave for reaffirmation.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Nero breaths, soft enough to be drowned out by the surrounding chit chat. In no way does he expect to be heard -

\- and Avilio smiles.

It isn’t entirely open, the way a child’s would seem-eyes crinkling along with their lips. It isn’t scheming either, plotting Nero’s demise actively at this particular moment. In fact, if Nero had to describe it, if he really had to draw words from his vocabulary, the smile was more teasing than anything. How bizarre.

“Your face is dirty,” says Avilio.

Nero rubs it clean with a napkin, perhaps a bit too roughly. Before long, their plates are empty. The pretense of sharing a meal together is all but used up.

Rough hands slip into pants pockets to pull out a pack of cigarettes. They reach in again but feel nothing else.

_Clink clink._

Blue eyes shoot up. In front of Nero is a lighter, with Avilio flicking his thumb on the sparkwheel to ignite a small ember.

Nero plucks out a cigarette and cradles it in his lips. He leans towards the flame. He can feel the cool gold gaze beaming straight at him, and blows out a ring of smoke. Gives the other a look that practically says ‘want one?’

The younger man just takes one in his lips and leans forward, lighting the stick with the lit end of Nero’s.

Oh. That shattering of personal space catches Nero off guard, and he edges a bit back by reflex. He can’t escape the smoke blown from Avilio’s lips, though.

“Nero,” Honey colored eyes, fully equipped with specks of pulsing gold, peer into his.

“Let me come with you.”

There’s a glint of uncertainty to that gaze. A modest tremble to that voice. Nero is used to confidence and self-assurance from the younger man.

“Sure, what the heck.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  


 

Surely this wasn’t what Nero expected when he said he’d bring Avilio along.

They’re behind the wheel of his car currently, trying to start the engine, but the poor thing seems to sputter to no avail.

“Uh…”

“Let’s get out,” says Avilio, eyeing an automobile that just parked down the street. Nero watches as the lithe form of the younger man slips past the owner of the car. Watches as he flashes him that golden gaze before continuing on.

Once the stranger clears off, Nero scurries over to his accomplice. He scans the area to check for onlookers.

“This is grand theft auto, you know?”

Avilio just shrugs.

But the car starts up, and then they are on the road.

“You really are something,” says Nero, voice a mixture of amusement and admonishment.

“Would you rather have walked?”

“Good job back there.” The elder man’s voice is exaggeratedly happy, bright. Flashes a thumbs up.

They don’t ask each other where they are going. To do so would break the illusion of neutrality between them. Nero would be lying to say he doesn’t hold any negative emotions towards the other man. Rather, he has these dark feelings along with lighter, more confusing ones. Perhaps by spending time with the youth, Nero would be able to comprehend himself.

Avilio takes in the slouch to Nero’s posture, the shadows under his eyes.

“Let me drive, Nero.”

“And risk having to steal another car? No thanks.”

“You should rest.”

“I don’t need you babying me, Avilio.”

And then he nearly pulls the breaks. There are waves of heat crashing into his form, heart flip-flopping like a trapeze artist in the air. The younger man suddenly looks away, facing the side window.

“You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Well,” Nero bends back into his seat and coughs. “Avilio is your name, isn’t it?”

A shuffling of cloth, but Avilio says nothing.

Outside the pale moon peeks through the clouds. If he squints his eyes, Nero can just make out dark silhouettes of surrounding trees swinging in the breeze. Well. Now is a better time than ever...

"So what have you been doing these past months?" There goes there elephant in the room.

At first Nero thinks he's being ignored again- t wouldn't be the first time nor would it be the last-but unexpectedly, like the sight of goats in trees, his ears catch the soft intake of breath from the other.

"I thought a lot about what you said." A pale hand supports the weight of the speaker's head, hazel eyes still glued to the side window. "Before I knew it, I was a drifter, picking up odd jobs here and there." He turns to look at Nero.

"You're here now. Did you get fired or something?" A hint of a smirk flashes over the brunet's mouth.

"I quit," says Avilio. "Right after meeting you, actually."

"As I recall, you were glued to my side after that." Nero can practically feel the other man roll his eyes, almost chuckles to that thought. "Wait, do your employers even know you skipped town?"

And Avilio turns back to his window.

Figures the younger man would have problems forming ties with people. Not that it was any of his business-

"I wanted to know if I followed you, if I stayed by your side, would I understand anything?" The wheels of the car squeak, jolting to a stop. 

"That's what you've been dying to ask me right? Why I'm doing this. I can see it on your face."

Nero stares off into the distance, hand gripping the steering wheel. Jaw tight and heavy. And then, he relaxes. Takes his foot off the breaks.

"Avilio," he can feel his heart thump, blood rushing like fire through his veins. "Let's go for a ride."

"We already are."

"Shh. Don't ruin the moment."

 

 

Unbeknownst to the pair, however, another automobile trails after them in the dark.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a warmth hitting his cheeks and Nero scratches at it, trying to chase away the unpleasant sensation. Three strokes of his fingers is all it takes before the ground suddenly jolts and shakes. Shake? Blue eyes burst open. The glare of the sun beams down at his face. It takes a few seconds, but soon he realizes he’s sitting in the passenger seat of the car, damp sweat trickling down his back and hands gripping the side of the automobile. That’s strange. This side feels soft-- _oh._

“Sorry.” He retracts his wandering hand off of Avilio’s resting arm, wiping the moisture gleaming from his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Since when had he fallen asleep? The only reason his traveling companion would be allowed to drive is either he’d dozed off somewhere along the line, or they had a death wish. Nero feels himself shudder. Traveling companion. Because, that’s what they are now, aren’t they?

“It’s twenty miles until the next town,” says Avilio. His eyes are wide and glued to the road, perhaps a bit too diligently. Nero can see the dark bags underneath the younger man’s lashes, can just make out the pink rimming hazel irises.

“How long was I out?”

Avilo spares him a quick glance over his shoulder--

“Please, do me a favor and keep your eyes on the road.”

“You were gone for about seven hours.”

“That long?” Nero’s lips scrunch up into a grimace. He’s been without consciousness for such an extended period of time. That’s a bit troubling. Then again, for once he didn’t wake up feeling like the screws were popping out from his head. Nero locks his fingers together and pulls them behind and over his neck. Yawns.

“Haven’t had a good nap in ages.”

“I could tell. You look haggard.”

“Not all of us can maintain pretty boy looks while running on three hours of sleep, ya know?”

“I’m pretty sure if you stop skipping towns you’d find eternal rest.”

“Dark! That’s a dark joke, Avilio!”

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

Nero aims his gaze back at the road. By the position of the sun and the length of the shadows, it seems to be a couple hours before noon. The sight of dirt and trees soon loses its splendor, and Nero finds himself sneaking a few glances at the man at the wheel.

There is no avoiding it; Avilio would have been what girls giggle and dream of, hushed whispers reflecting their bubbling desire, if he only loses that stony look on his face. Nero tries to imagine him smiling, pulls out that memory from a day ago at the diner when Avilio had shown that unfiltered expression. Not bad. The honey in his eyes had throbbed, soft lips peeling back. Not bad at all. Though Nero wonders if he’s ever bed a woman before…

He coughs, straightening up his shirt.

_Let’s not go there._

“So…” Nero starts, attempting to drown out the annoying way his heart seems to drum in his chest.

Avilio doesn’t seem to rise to the bait, though. Well. The elder man tries to wrap his mind on what to say, what to fill in the cracks of restless silence rupturing between them.

“You like animals?” And he inwardly smacks himself.

“I used to have a dog.”

“Oh yea? What kind of breed? How is it?” Desperate to shove away the awkward lack of noise and doesn’t even bother to mask it. Avilio shoots him a look and speaks deadpan.

“It’s dead.”

“...Did anyone ever tell you you’re terrible at this?”

The engine hums in the background. Nero leans back into the seat, elbows jutting against the cramp side of the car. His hands descend into his pants pockets, fingers playing with the metal lighter. His tongue suddenly feels dry; he has half a mind to light a smoke--

“It was a Boston Terrier. Passed away before I entered the third grade.” Avilio blinks off the stray strands of black getting into his eyes. “I used to feed it scraps under the table that I didn’t like.”

The _thunk_ of metal hitting the floor.

“What?”

“Uh, nothing. Just. I can sort of picture it." The brunet bends forward, head ducking beneath the front of the car to pick up the dropped lighter. Dusts it off a bit. "You pawning off your carrots to the poor dog.”

“It wasn’t carrots.” He has the audacity to sound offended. Then, softer: “They were string beans.”

And then the inside of the automobile is lit with laughter. Nero just throws his head back and cracks up. Just laughs and sputters. A hint of a tear hangs from his eyelid and he wipes it off with a finger.

“It’s not very funny,” says Avilio. But the corners of his lips tilt upwards slightly.

“Jeez, what _are_ you?”

“I’m Avilio,” says the youth. How cheeky.

Nero just rolls down the window, enjoying how the breeze feels on his face.

The car suddenly steers to the right, shaking and rumbling through the dirt road.

 _Well,_ thinks Nero, smoothing out the mess of locks on his scalp. _Looks like it’s time to switch drivers._

 

 

 

 ~*~

 

 

They end up in a dingy motel, the floorboards creaking with every step and the walls so thin you'd think they would collapse into eachother at any second.

"Nero." Avilio's voice comes out smooth, like cashmere trimmings. "Do you really have the funds to be staying in a place like this?"

"Don't worry about it," says Nero. Of course, he doesn't have much left. But if the man has to sleep in the backseat of a car for another night, Nero wasn't sure if he'd rather drop dead.

Not to mention, now that Avilio was tagging along there was no way they could continue with his usual sleeping habits.

The room is small; the word 'cozy' might describe it for an optimist, but for everyone else it'd be 'cramped.' A single bed lays in the middle of the space. In the corner is a door to presumably the wash.

"I'm going to take a shower. You stay here and hold down the fort." 

No response. Shrugging, Nero heads to the suspiciously small bathroom. It takes a couple of tries, but he manages to get the hot water running. Closes his eyes and surrenders to the spray of the shower head. 

Some days, he thinks back to the time before that fateful night at the Playhouse, when he and Avilio had that road trip. When things had been simpler.

Before his whole family was wiped away from the face of the earth like a dirty smudge.

He would entertain these thoughts, lost in a sea of wistfulness, not quite knowing if it was a pensive dream or a budding nightmare. When he looks at the man beside him, Nero can say the same ambiguity persists here.

It’s hard to trust someone who’s broken it in the past.

Nero is no fool. But, he isn’t heartless, either. Everything that transpired eight months ago, seven years past--hell they can go back in time even further than that--had already been paid for. Nero ended that cycle himself.

This is especially since Avilio seems particularly earnest in pursuing a... _something_ with Nero. Well, as earnest as the youth could ever look, anyway.

With a metallic  _squeak,_ the misty warmth is shut off. Nero grabs for a towel. He dries himself off. As he exits the wash, he half expects to see a pair of steely golden eyes grilling him. Instead, he finds Avilio sitting in a chair fast asleep.

The brunet pauses mid-step, lost in contemplation. Finally, he decides to inch his way toward the younger man.

Avilio is slumped into the seat, lips parted somewhat. Head tilted gently back. His neck is bared, a bit of collarbone visible from the two buttons left unbuttoned on his shirt.

For some reason, being able to see his traveling companion in such a vulnerable state...Nero can't help but feel light. Drunk. He looks a lot younger than he usually does. There's still a small crease to Avilio's brow though, and Nero has half a mind to touch it. His fingers flutter toward the stray strands of black framing the other's face. Stops himself before making contact.

What, _what_ was _that?_

Nero suddenly feels dirty. It's like he's done something unspeakably foul. The younger man shifts a bit in the chair before jolting awake. Honey orbs gaze into his own.

"Nero..."

"It's your turn to shower," says the brunet, albeit gruffly and breaking eye contact. He crawls into the sole bed in the room without waiting for an answer. He pulls the covers over his head.

Underneath the thin blankets, he can hear the  _zaaa_ of the shower. With each breath he catches the coattails of slumber.

Nero is fast asleep when Avilio exits the shower. His dark hair is damp, and now so is the back of his shirt. A draft can be felt from the windows, and he goes over to shut them, only to find that they are already.

A shiver runs through his body, but he doesn't approach the bed. Instead, Avilio unhooks the curtains from the window. Lays them on the ground.

"Ngh..."

His golden gaze shoots to the direction of the noise. He doesn't move any closer, though. The younger man takes a step backward and the floorboards creak.

"...Avilio?"

"Go back to sleep, Nero."

"Why are you," a shuffle of cloth. "Why are you all the way over there?"

A sigh escapes from Avilio's lips. There are goosebumps popping all over his skin and he rubs them. "I'm making a bed on the floor."

"What? You can come over here." He could just make out the silhouette of Nero waving him over. "Just don't drool though, or steal the blankets. I'll knock your face in."

Minutes crawl by with not a peep. Nero is almost sure Avilio denied his offer but...

The shuffling of sheets and sudden warmth by his side is his answer.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm back again so soon! A bit more fluff(?) in the scenes, though not much as usual. Thanks for taking the time to read this as usual! Comments and kudos fuel me like no other ^^  
> I'm aiming for some sweet, sweet payoff soon, so for those of you not quite satisfied by the avilero interactions so far, have no fear! I won't leave you hanging, I just think instant gratification is too hip these days.  
> Cheers!!

Warm. It is so warm. The heat is pleasant, way better than the cold fringes everywhere else, and Nero inches closer to the cozy sensation. It's soft too, softer than the thin blankets wrapped around his body, the sunken mattress beneath him. It feels _good_ , and he crawls even closer. Arms pulling the heat to him and nose burying into the silken warmth. There's the scent of musk and pine. Breathes it in. The tip of his nose suddenly itches, and he sneezes, jolting awake.

 _Oh god_.

Like a frightened animal, Nero immediately tenses and flinches, scurrying off the mattress and untangling himself from the body next to his. The body that is so obviously Avilio’s.

_Holy fuck._

This definitely did not happen. Nero prays the other is still asleep. There are droplets of sweat prickling his skin, heart thumping like a drum within the cavern of his chest. Like a kid that's caught lying. He takes in the sight of the youth laying on his side, facing the edge of the bed. Reaches a tentative finger to prod the younger man's shoulder.

He doesn't budge.

A sigh of relief escapes from Nero’s lips. The elder man crawls out of bed, making sure not to cause too much noise, too much shaking. Tip toes over to the washroom.

All the while a golden gaze aims at the bare wall, lit for several minutes now.

 

 

 

 

 

-

“I’m going to get some supplies. You can stay here or do whatever.” Nero shoots a glance at Avilio over his shoulder. Hand gripping the metal door knob. “Meet you back at the motel at 2.” Takes a step out the door.

It closes with a muted slam. Avilio stands by the foot of the bed, clothes disheveled and brow all wrinkled. Hair slightly matted at the back. He brushes his long fingers through the dark messy strands and grimaces when they get caught in the knots.

Avilio makes his way to the washroom. Hazel orbs narrow at the small mirror on top of the sink. He takes in the unruly edges of his hair, the split ends. They reach the back of his neck now, bangs framing his face like curtains, and he wonders if they’ve gotten too long.

Last night...was troubling. It had been hard falling asleep with Nero right beside him, although he did welcome the added body heat. It was all that the younger man could do to stick by the edge of the mattress like glue, trying hard not to touch or fall off the bed.

He had been close to drifting asleep, mind wandering the universe, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso. Pulling him near. Nudging into his personal bubble.

The back of his neck itches, remembering the cool press of Nero’s nose.

For some reason or another, Avilio did not remove himself from the other’s grasp. He tells himself it was because he had been too tired, too fatigued to untangle himself off of the other man. That they were both men so it shouldn't matter anyway. A deeper, darker side of himself thinks otherwise.

Following Nero after all this time is a gamble. Avilio knows this much.

He better not lose himself.

 

 

 

-

The streets are bustling, a fresh market set up with stands full of fruits, vegetables, and meat. It is unlike anything Nero has ever come across before, and he has frequented many towns in the past eight months.

The sun glares down from behind the shade of the surrounding buildings. Nero holds up and examines a large squash, pondering how one can actually prepare such a thing. He later drops it for some cans of beans and beef jerky. Chats up a couple customers. Is about to pay the pretty girl at the counter and leave with a wink when blue eyes catch a familiar looking labeled can.

Nero picks up the container of pineapples. Adds it to his purchase.

This morning had been an exercise in keeping up a front, to say so the least. Nero had felt his outer indifference gradually melt away as soon as Avilio woke up. When he gazed into Nero’s eyes and asked if he had anything on his face.

It prompted the brunet to grunt under his breath, locking himself in the cramped washroom.

In hindsight he might have acted a bit too flighty, but try as you might you can’t change the past. Nero knows this well, at least.

Though it doesn't excuse his actions from last night.

The soft, muted click of the tongue.

All the rations are packed tightly into a large brown satchel hung over his shoulder. The last remaining Vanetti is about to enjoy a slow detour back to the motel, enjoy the cool autumn breeze, when his eyes catch the silhouette of a figure. Trailing after him in the shadows, no less. A frown makes its way across his lips, hand descending into the pockets of his coat to squeeze a revolver’s grip.

Nero makes a few sharp turns, back tracking here and there. Ducking into the embrace of the crowd. He finally reaches the motel after no longer feeling the pressure of a glare pursuing him.

When the door to their room bursts open, Nero rushes in to find it empty.

“Avilio!”

No response. Well, he did say he could go wherever he wanted, granted the youth met back at the motel at 2. Shit. This is not good. There’s a breeze rolling in from a window but he doesn’t even move to shut it. Nero is about to lock the door behind him when a pale hand grips the frame. Pulling it fully open.

“Nero.”

And then hazel eyes pop wide, barrel of a revolver gleaming in the dirty ceiling lights and aimed right at the other’s direction.

Bang - !

His eyes shut when he hears the thump of mass hitting the ground.

“Don’t just stand there!”

A strong grip on his wrist as Avilio roughly pulls him out of the doorway. Nero’s legs stumble a bit, but it doesn’t take long for the realization to hit his brains. They are running now, down the stairs, spiraling away from the wisps of gunsmoke and slumped over body. It takes them barely thirty seconds and then they are in the seat of the car. Wheels skidding and screaming off into the road.

“I didn’t know you had a gun,” says Nero, after his heart no longer threatened to beat out of his chest.

Avilio says nothing.

The brunet reaches for the backseat where the rations are. Or at least, he tries. A sharp pain slices across his right shoulder, causing him to hiss under his breath.

“You’re hurt,” says Avilio. He’s staring at the ripped sleeve now, a flash of something unrecognizable zipping through honey orbs.

“It’s nothing. Just grazed me.”

“You should get that disinfected -”

“I’m fine,” says Nero, cutting Avilio off. “Gotta keep driving.” He notices the slight sag to the younger man’s stature. The hesitation to his gaze. Nero tries to flash a smile that ends with him wincing.

Every now and then Nero checks the rearview mirror, half expecting to see an automobile hot on their tracks. He doesn’t.

They’ve got a long ride ahead of them.

“Take a right at that exit,” says Avilio. Nero raises his eyebrows, but complies anyway.

The car rolls into a quaint road, soon swallowed by the surrounding tall trees. Minutes roll by until nearly half an hour passes. He can feel the other’s eyes on him.

“Stop the engine.”

Nero does. The sound of ripping cloth.

“W-what are you doing?”

“You need to clean and bandage that wound or it’ll get infected.”

“Look, I’m not gonna go down from something like this -”

“If it gets bad enough it’ll have to be chopped off.”

“I told you it’s - _what_ ?!”

“I’m not very good at it,” there's a novel in those eyes, a solemn galaxy swirling and expanding in hazel irises, “so let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

“You’re kidding right? _Hey_!"

Avilio ignores the other’s attempt at pushing him off, unclasps the buttons to Nero’s top. Wiggles the sleeves off of the man’s arms. There’s a pop of a lid, the younger man pouring some alcohol out of a flask and onto a handkerchief. Dabs the cloth on the red raw flesh.

“Ouch!”

“Don't move.”

“What about your shirt?” Blue eyes catch the ripped patches of cloth.

Shrugs. “I have a coat.”

“...Thanks.”

No response. Avilio is very diligent in treating his wound. Almost as if he has done so many times in the past.

The tips of his fingers feel cold, and Nero resists the urge to shiver. He can smell the scent of Avilio's shirt, the musk of his skin. They're that close. It only lasts for a couple minutes though; Avilio finishes tightening the makeshift bandages.

“Nero,” gold eyes flashing with specks of fire light up in the shade of the car.

“Let’s leave the country.” To Mexico. Canada. Anywhere as long as its out of the Galassias’ reach, is what's left unspoken.

Outside the automobile, the caw of crows rings from the skies. Nero thinks of the graves of his loved ones, left unattended. The ruins of his family home.

The very much alive youth sitting right besides him.

Fingers clench into fists; blue eyes stare off into the hazy distance.

“Okay.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a bit of research to get HISTORY right ;_; Hopefully, didn't misinterpret facts along the way...  
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments etc!  
> It really warms my heart ^^
> 
> THIS IS NOT THE END BTW  
> I realize after minutes of editing how final the last few sentences seem -_-  
> I won't have this marked as "completed" if Avilio and Nero don't even go so far as a kiss...

"So we're heading east."

"That's the plan." Nero tries not to notice how utterly frayed and ripped Avilio's dress shirt is, wishes he’d just button up that coat already. "Gonna make our way to the New York harbor. Take a steamboat abroad.”

They're sitting at a campfire, the bright yellow flames painting the surrounding area a dim tangerine. The car is parked right behind them; metal edges catch the glow of the embers. Avilio crouches across from Nero, poking the fire with a stick.

“Are we...are we set for Europe?”

“Yes. France, more precisely.” Nero brings a hand to his chin, lightly scratching his beard. “I hear the French ladies are _très jolis_ (very pretty).” Shoots a glance at the younger man and wriggles his eyebrows. Sure enough, Avilio is sporting a displeased look.

“You're acting insufferable.”

“Hmm? What’s that? Did you say something?” He brings a hand to cup at his ear but only hears the crackling of the flames now.

The younger man is staring into the flickering fire, one knee brought close to his chest. Bangs covering his eyes. They've gotten pretty long, poking right above his lashes. Nero mildly wonders if it's done on purpose.

“Hey Avilio.” No response. Well, it's not as if he didn't expect this. “Hey. Hey you.” The brunet shifts his weight to his toes and rolls to the balls of his feet. Edges closer to the silent man.

“How about a haircut? I look like this, but I'm pretty good with my hands.” And then he nearly snacks himself. Great, what a way to not sound...questionable.

A sideways glance from the other. “I would like to keep my ears.”

“Ah c’mon. Have some faith in me.”

"Please don't wiggle your fingers like that." Avilio sighs, turning away from Nero's unsightly gesture. "...fine.” His golden eyes flash in the muted lighting and he brushes a pale hand through dark locks absent-mindedly. “Are you going to do it now?” Unblinking, as if daring the man in front of him to say yes.

“Uh, sure.” Nero swallows. Avilio slowly turns his body so that his back is facing him. Peers out into the shadowy woods. At the same time, Nero reaches into his coat to retrieve a swiss army knife. Flips the scissors out. Its blades gleam in the light of the fire.

It takes a couple seconds of contemplation, but finally Nero manages to lift a hand, reaching for the midnight strands. Fingers grazing the locks that look so soft to the touch.

And soft they are.

He brushes his digits through Avilio's hair, enjoying how plush it feels. The younger man leans slightly into the touch. Perhaps, and this is just a thought, he is nervous about his well-being. Well, then.

_Snip snip._

Dark locks tumble to the ground like soot-stained snow. With each squeeze of the eye rings, Nero feels a strange surge of satisfaction washing through his form. Every now and then, the pads of his fingers would sweep ever so slightly over the tips of Avilio’s ears.

They're soft, too.

Minutes roll by; Nero has the younger man turn around. Hand skimming over his forehead, tickling his bangs. All the while, hazel orbs stare past the elder man's face.

“Our first checkpoint,” starts Nero, trying his best to keep his thoughts straight, “is Indiana.”

“Indiana…”

“It's a pretty dry state. Few years ago they passed a statute that really pushed for temperance. Not that it really concerns us.” And, he's rambling again.

“Prohibition should end soon.”

“Yeah.” He’s careful not to cut too close. The blades are plenty sharp and the last thing he wants is to knick Avilio's ears. “Yeah.”

The younger man blinks, eyes hooded and now aimed at the crackling flames. Picks up a pebble. Throws it into the fire.

“Nero…”

“Hm?”

Golden irises reflect the bloom of the embers.

“I still haven't figured anything out.”

If Nero hadn't been so close, he surely would have missed the soft tremble of that baritone. At this particular angle, at this distance, Avilio appears so small. As if he’d just disappear if you somehow looked away. The sight was so alien, uncharacteristic of the confidence usually radiating from the younger man. Something lurched within the pit of Nero’s heart.

“Well, as long as we're still alive.” You can stay until you find what you’re looking for, is what's left unspoken. He drops his scissor-wielding hand, the other free palm thumbing through Avilio's hair. Ruffling the strands.

“We should change your bandages.”

Fingers stop in their movement, resting on the warm scalp. Pulls them away. “What, are you going to rip up more of your shirt? There's barely anything left.” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it's not a lie that the shirt is in tatters. Just looking at it sends a shiver down Nero's spine.

“I was thinking I'd use a bit of yours.”

“Nope, not a chance.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

They play rock, paper, scissors for the backseat.

Nero wins, unexpectedly, and Avilio gets the first watch.

Whatever is left of the campfire glows dimly in the surrounding night. He leans against the car, head tilt toward the sky. Ears catching the chirp of crickets. Tries to count the stars but gives up after seeing the long stretch of clouds.

It smells of rain, even though it hasn’t showered yet. A hand reaches for the ends of his hair. It's quite a bit shorter now, although still not as short as it was in their first encounter about a year ago.

In a few hours it'll be Nero's turn to take watch. Avilio shuffles in his spot. He thinks of the 18 hour drive the elder man has just partaken in. Thinks of the creeping, ever expanding shadows around Nero's eyes.

He's not particularly adverse to the thought of an all-nighter.

Some nights, Avilio would close his eyes and see Corteo in the background. Smiling gently, knowingly, like at that time he took a bullet for Avilio's sake. Waving that signature hand wave from their childhood years.

He never speaks in those dreams, but Avilio can hear him just the same.

In a way, and Avilio would never say this aloud, he likes to think his friend is happy up there. There's no doubt in his mind that Corteo is in heaven.

“I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait a while longer.” They're empty words, though. As if a person like him even has the right to _wish_ he’d end up in the same place.

The youth shuts his eyes for a moment, head nodding back. Just to rest them, is what he tells himself.

He’s surrendering to the lull of slumber when suddenly, a rumble erupts within the automobile. Avilio instantly picks himself up from his position. Stalks over to the side door. With a click, it opens.

Nero is curled on the backseat, brows scrunched in what would seem like intense concentration, if only he weren't asleep. His breath comes out in loud drawn puffs. There's the sheen of sweat on the sides of his forehead and neck.

“Nngh…”

The younger man is now by his side, the door to the car ajar. He places a hand on the other's shoulder and jerks back when Nero springs up from the seat.

Blue eyes are wide (with hate?) with rippling emotion as the cool barrel of his revolver presses against Avilio's forehead.

There are droplets of cold sweat hanging from the younger man's skin. Pupils dilated. And then, the _clink_ of metal hitting the floor.

“Oh.” Nero pulls back from the frozen youth, limbs peeling back into himself. “I’m - I'm so sorry.” He brings his hands to his face, palms rubbing at his eyes. “ _Shit._ ”

Shaking, Avilio takes in the trembling shoulders of the man next to him. Reaches into his coat to pull out the alcohol flask. Nero takes it. Throws his head back to chug. So fast that he chokes, sputtering some bitter remnants here and there.

After a moment of thought, Avilio edges closer to the other. Frowns when the proximity of their bodies yields no response.

He takes a soft intake of breath:

“When I was eight my parents decided to go on a trip.” Well, that certainly gets some feedback: he can feel the other’s attention on him now, albeit mostly from confusion. “They hired a nanny for the weekend they’d be gone.” Long, thin fingers pick up the gun. Dusts it a bit before gently handing it back. “I didn't like her.”

“Avilio -.”

“I thought if I drove her off my parents would come back sooner. That same day, Corteo was visiting.” They’re close and he can smell the alcohol in Nero’s breath. He places his hands lightly on top of Nero's, pulling them away from the elder man's face.  “So I got him to drop a cricket in her tea.” A small, fond smile settles on Avilio’s lips.

“She didn't know until she finished drinking.”

Three seconds of stunned silence. A soft breeze rolls inside by the crack of the door. Nero drops his head. Shoulders quiver; hands clench into fists by his lap.

“Heh.” A sharp intake of breath. “Heh heh heh.”

And then the whole car is lit with laughter.

Despite his efforts to keep calm, Nero draws his arms in slowly, wrapping them around his stomach. Does nothing to quell his laughter, though.

“T-thanks.” In between all the chortling and tears - Nero is not one to hold back in his expressions - the waxed moon peeks out from behind the clouds.

 

 

-

“It feels strange to say this but,” this is a while later, and Nero wipes at the bit of moisture accumulating by his eyes. “I’m not unhappy. That you’re here, I mean.” Places a hand on Avilio's shoulder. Squeezes. 

They don't talk for the rest of the night, choosing to entertain and fall into their thoughts instead. Eventually, Nero drifts back asleep, and will probably not remember this conversation but.

The younger man. Avilio.

He won't forget.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-  
  
Avilio sneezes, bringing a sleeve up to wipe at his nose. Nero spares him a glance while on the wheel.

“You should rest. You were up 'til dawn.”

The younger man just shrugs, peering out the side window.

“Should really get you a new shirt, too.”

“I'm fine.”

“Don’t know about that, your nose has got the runs. Best case, it's your body telling you to dress up before you catch a cold. Worst case, you've got pneumonia.”

A dark, slender brow twitches, but he says nothing.

“Boy, do my neck and joints ache. I wish someone would have woken me from my nap last night.” Nero glances at the younger man besides him.

“You looked like a big dog --”

“Excuse me?”

“--Dumb and loud and overly excited. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

Blue eyes pop wide. Blossoming. Like he just came to a realization. And then, a wide grin stretches its way across his mouth. “So you actually have a cute side. Never thought I'd see the day.”

From the corners of his eyes, Nero can make out the way the youth's body tenses up and he chuckles at the sight.

“...shut up.”

Avilio's voice comes out gruff, laced with annoyance. But, it's not just one of their faces that feels warm.

"I'll buy you breakfast."

"It's already noon."

"Shh. Don't sweat the details.

The country road rolls by, and Nero enjoys the autumn breeze. Sneaks a peek at the other man again, who just seems to be exploring the glove compartment before sneezing.

_I could really get used to this._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID ITTTTTTT

 

At the back of a large office, shrouded by tall, looming shadows, sits a man at an ornate desk. A lit cigar hangs by his lips, orange embers blending in with the dim and muted bloom of a corner lamp. On a wall perpendicular to the desk leans a grandfather clock. Its pendulum sways back and forth in a forlorn dance. Three knocks on the door and the man lets the crowd flood in like the darkly dressed stream it is.

“Don Strega.” There are men in drab suits, blending into the shadowy fringes.

“We've retrieved the remains of the tracker.”

“And of that scurrying rat?”

Twelve gongs that pierce the silence of the room. The grandfather clock wails its song.

 

“Get him.”

 

-

 

It's probably been the third time in five minutes that he hears the other man sneeze, and Nero is starting to wonder if Avilio's actually sick.

“Hey. Hey you.”

The younger man barely looks over at his direction. There's a sag to his posture, cheeks tinged a feverish glow. Breathes heavily. Oh yeah, there's no doubt about it now. Nero reaches out to Avilio, but the latter just lightly swats his arm away.

“You alright over there?”

“Just keep driving.”

Blue eyes narrow. “Should really get you seeing a doctor.” As if to prove his point, another sneeze rings out in the small space of the car. Avilio wipes at his nose with his sleeve. Sniffles.

“I'm fine.”

“Like hell you are.” Nero spins the steering wheel, taking a sharp left into an exit.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a stop at the next town.”

“In case you've forgotten, we've got people chasing us --”

“All the better,” tides rise in two oceans, sparkling, playful even, “to take a vacation.”

It's silent in the automobile now; Nero can feel the golden gaze rippling with all its intensity. Then, a sigh.

“...You're insane.”

“And yet you're the one tagging along.” The last remaining Vanetti smirks, taking in the view of the browning foliage around them. Autumn surely has made its mark.

Avilio leans against the side of the car, eyes half lid but still very much awake. Fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Twist, pull, and release.

“I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.”

The youth closes his eyes, lashes splaying like a fan.

“That's called self-complimenting.”

“It's called giving praise where it’s due.” Nero glances at the younger man, slight pout to his own lips.  

By the time they reach the next town, it's already nightfall. The town is brightly lit, street lamps adorning every street corner. Stretches of diners and shops lining the blocks. If he pushes back the memories of being chased like some refugee, of being the last surviving member of his family, he'd almost believe he is on vacation. Almost.

“Stay here in the car while I look for a clinic,” says Nero.

“I'm not an - _cough_ \- invalid.”

Nero takes in the dry, cracked lips of the other, the increasingly red apples of his cheeks.

“Sorry to say this but you seriously look like shit.”

“Just let me rest. I'll be better if I rest.”

A single thought runs through his mind like a galloping gazelle, and Nero swallows. Suddenly, the younger man's familiarity with first aid makes sense.

“Avilio,” Blue eyes widen, aiming straight at subject's direction. “You can't be afraid of hospitals, are you?”

The smoldering glare from the other is his answer.

“Alright, alright,” Nero brings both hands up as if to placate the younger man. “ We’ll just book a room. Have you lie down a couple days.”

“I just need a couple hours.”

“Nonsense. Who would rent out a room for just two hours?”

He opens the car door, slips out and pulls the younger man into the streets with him. A hand wraps tightly around Avilio's wrist, dragging him along.

“Nero.”

“Hm?”

Hazel orbs narrow, the skin around his wrist tingling. “I'm not a child.”

The pair of footsteps halt, though only for a moment. Flashes of cold and merciless golden eyes, unblinking as their owner empties the rounds of a revolver. Glimpses of a broken, sobbing man, lit only by the embers of a campfire. The spicy smell of gunsmoke. Nero's grip tightens. But, releases all the same.

“Not once have I thought you were.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

As soon as they reach the doorway of their room, Avilio seems to deflate, facade of strength melting away into the air. Nero watches as he makes a beeline to one of the beds. Not even bothering to take a shower.

"I'm going to...lay down for a bit."

And then he's out like a lamp.

The brunet picks up the discarded coat on the floor, drapes it over a chair. Shoots one last glance at the clump of sheets and heads back out. Destination: the local pharmacy.

When he returns, Nero makes sure not to turn on the lights. Luckily, the pale glow of the moon is enough to illuminate the small room.

The floorboards squeak as he nears the foot of Avilio's bed, but he doesn't stop his motion. From this angle, from this short breadth of distance, Nero can just make out the sheen of sweat on the youth's forehead. He's wrapped in the sheets like a cocoon. Shivering. 

A sigh escapes from Nero's lips.

With hesitant hands, Nero eventually pulls down the covers from Avilio's neck. Disappears into the washroom before exiting with a small basin of water. He sets the brass container on the nightstand. Dips a handkerchief into the liquid. Watches as ripples form and expand on the clear surface. 

Blue eyes observe the panting, sleeping youth. Looks like his condition deteriorated while he was gone. Jaw tightens. Nero wipes away the sweat on Avilio's forehead. His neck. The handkerchief suddenly drops from his grip, and then his eyes darken. Glaze over.

His hands wrap around the other's throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

The birds are chirping, sunlight shining through the open window, and his lips are parched. But, at least the heat and pounding in his brains is gone. 

Avilio turns his head to the side, nose buried in the sheets. Hazel eyes take in a small basin on the nightstand, accompanied by a half empty glass of water and cylinder of pills. It's a bit unfamiliar, so different from the view of the dusty backseat of their car, but it's not jarring.

Something feels missing, though.

The youth pushes himself up with his palms, but Nero is nowhere to be seen.

He shouldn't feel disappointed; Avilio's known this day was coming since he had first asked the other to tag along. He's accepted it.

Lips tighten and brow creases. The tips of his fingers are cold, heavy.

So why does it feel like a blizzard has just swept through October?

"Nero..." What is he even calling out to--

"Hey."

Golden eyes pop wide, specks of firing crackling in those orbs, and he jerks his neck.

The elder man appears from the washroom, lit cigarette in his lips. He quietly rubs it out into an ashtray though, almost as in regret. Upon closer inspection, the dark circles around his eyes seem to have deepened. And just when they had finally started to fade. A strange smile crawls its away across Nero's lips. Faraway look in his gaze. Avilio decides he doesn't like it.

"Why?"

Why did you go? Why did you return? Why do you look like that?

why why why --

"Last night, I had a bit of a rough start." A ring of smoke escapes from dry lips. "Wasn't a good feeling." 

He watches as the brunet takes a seat by the window. The yellow rays wash over the man's silhouette. And then, blue eyes lock with his own.

"How are you feeling?'

"Better."

Nero blinks, owlishly, curiously, at Avilio's quick response. A tiny, strained smile finds its way on the elder man's lips.

Avilio just stares back. Blinks when the glare of the sun becomes too much for his eyes. Despite how close the other man is to the side of his bed - he can walk a few steps and they'd almost be touching - it feels like the distance between them has stretched. Expanded. Something lurches in his chest. Hazel eyes squint, trying their best to remain open. 

"Did you have a bad dream?"

That same rueful glance. "Something like that." Snaps.

The shuffling of cloth. _Creaak_ of the floorboards.

"What -"

And he throws the blankets on top of Nero's face, wrapping them around his upper body.

"What the hell -" The last remaining Vanetti quickly breaks free from the makeshift veil, unraveling the cloth so that his face peeks out.

"Don't look at me like that." Anger pulses through the golden gape, smoldering,  _mesmerizing_ , and Nero finds that he can't avert his eyes. Avilio's voice comes out sharp, gruff. Nothing like its usual smoothness. "Don't you  _dare_ look at me like that."

It is then when Nero realizes they are so close. Avilio's breath is warm on his cheeks, honey eyes gleaming even in the light of the sun. A pale hand grips at the collar of his shirt, veins floating. His own tongue dances unconsciously over his lips. There's no thinking now; just hot, animalistic tendencies taking over.

"What are you going to do about it." Low and guttural, spoken like a challenge. A dare.

Avilio yanks his collar forward and their lips smash. 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annndd....we're back folks  
> it's taken a month since life has been so hectic ;_; sorry guys!
> 
>  
> 
> also, finally to the part that makes the rating m ///^^///;;

The kiss is rough and cold, if you can even call it one.

Lips collide into each other, chilled and frantic in their press, like two ships waging war at sea. Teeth scrape. There's a crash, and suddenly Nero half realizes they are on the ground. Other half's left a hazy mess. The tension from his collar being tugged disappears, replaced by hot heavy breaths and the ghost of two palms pulling him closer.

In between the fall, somehow fingers catch the tail of the curtain, drawing the fluttering cloth and throwing the room into shade. His eyes are shut. Something soft and wet thrusts itself into Avilio's wet cavern, not quite understanding that it's his own tongue. Their sensory organs wrestle each other, none backing down in the display of dominance. The build of saliva dribbles down their chins. Nero presses down hard on the body beneath him, pressing out the logic and rational thinking into the warm thumping chest.

Perhaps it is due to a larger lung capacity, but Nero eventually wins the fight for supremacy. He feels the younger man soften. Breaking away to gasp at mouthfuls of air. Watching Avilio sputter with a slight glaze to his eyes and a distinct sheen on those lips, Nero spurs into action, nipping at the exposed collarbone so that it draws blood. Avilio hisses. But he doesn't make a show of shoving him off. Blue eyes take in the trickle of red that blooms from that pale skin like blossoms, pupils dilating, the heat in his groin flaring up like an unattended stove. He licks it.

The cheeks and earlobes of the younger man start to flush a pretty pink. Nero is not sure if it's from the fever or something entirely else. The wound should taste metallic, salty, but all Nero could think of was how sweet it is. He's no longer struggling, but the light in that golden gape is starting to flicker. Though Nero's legs and sturdy frame lock the other in place. Sure enough, the man beneath him starts squirming as if trying to flip their positions.

_Hey, hey, not so fast._

Grabbing a fistful of those soft dark locks, Nero feels his pulse quicken at the look of pain flashing through hazel orbs. The crotch of his pants feels tighter. His hands move on their own, fingertips dancing over the exposed abdomen of the younger man, shirt still in tatters. For once, he doesn't complain. The skin is warm and smooth to the touch, and with each graze of his palms the youth beneath him shivers. His fingers continue their trek. Lower and lower. He's hit with a sudden burst of curiosity, he needs to _know_ \--

A hand grips his own, and Nero is freed from his trance.

"Don't." The voice is a bit cracked, a bit of a gasp, but the message is clear. Unmistakable.

Nero stares down at Avilio. Takes in the disheveled attire and swollen wet lips. _Oh._ His hands are still resting underneath the hem of Avilio's trousers. The drum is still beating in his chest. It's his cue to get off; realization plows over him like a bulldozer but for some reason or another he can't bring himself to move.

A moment passes by before the younger man seems to come to his senses and shoves off the one on top of him. The two retreat to opposite sides of the room.

Nero watches from the corner of his eyes as the other buttons his shirt.

And then, so soft you can barely hear it: "I didn't want this."

"You say this now after you've stuck your tongue down my throat?" It comes out a bit sarcastic, dry, kind of like the parched sands of the Sahara Desert. Nero claws the hair near his forehead back. Mouth twisting into a half smile, though more self-mocking than anything.

There’s a voice in his head that’s chastising him. He doesn’t even try to refute it.

_What have you done?_

"This was all a big mistake."

At this point Avilio’s voice comes out as more of a shout. As if saying it louder would stamp it as true. His eyes are downcast, figure trembling. One look and you can tell he’s in a panic.

"Saying that doesn't really convince anyone."

"Then what do you want me to do?" A piercing silence. Golden eyes are boring through his soul. "Take back...whatever happened?"

Long, drawn sigh. Nero reaches into his pants, pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Lights one and puts in his lips. The gray smoke wraps around the man like a cape. His fingers are yellow.

"Just...relax. We're both men, aren't we? There's no reason to act like a disgruntled maiden."

A look of indignation flashes through hazel orbs. "Shut up," Avilio grits. The side of his head is a mess of dark locks and he's wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve. "Not everyone's a frivolous Casanova like you."

And then all the blood drains from Nero’s face.

"Do you mean...could that have been your first kiss?" Nero snaps his fingers alongside this realization.

A heated glare and the bloom of Avilio's ears is the man's answer. Suddenly, his throat feels dry and his tongue bland. Prompting him to take another puff.

"Well, it's - _ahem_ \- good that you're full of energy. Means the cold must has worn off. Oh, and uh, sorry about the thing I guess."

Avilio catches a cloth-like item from Nero's toss.

"Wear this." It's a brand new shirt. A low mumble.

"What was that?" asks Nero.

"I said, you still haven't explained what that _thing_ was."

Nero feels his brow twitch.

_You just can’t make this easy for me, can you?_

"What's there to explain? Just two stressed, sleep-deprived men on the run. It happens." Nero shrugs, trying his best to feint indifference.  Throws in a chuckle for good measure. "High levels of cortisol. It’s like soldiers during war. All that pent up steam." He sneaks a peak at the younger man. Avilio's just standing there with his hands still cradling the shirt. Seemingly deep in thought.

“Come downstairs when you’ve calmed down. We should get going. There are rations in the car so don't worry about breakfast.”

“I am calm!”

But the door is already shut with a _slam._

 

 

 

 

 

 

For once, Nero is glad that he's got people chasing him down. Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But, he can't deny that being on the run is helping distract him from that (unconscious?) display of physical intimacy.

Which isn't to say the car ride isn't awkward. It's awkward as hell. 

There's a distance that seems to have stretched between Nero and Avilio. Even when they are literally inches away from one another. The younger man has built a mental fortress separating the two, but who can blame him? Nero surely can't. Although it is true that the one who initiated the kiss was the younger man, it wasn't as if the Vanetti just stood there taking it.

He feels his face start to flush, trying his best to calm the dance of his heart.

Avilio hasn't said a word since their row in the hotel. The dress shirt is still in his arms. He hasn't touched the rations, either.

Well. Nero sucks in his cheek. 

"Should really put that on. It's not like it's having any use just tucked between your arms." No response. 

"You'll get sick again if you don't eat."

"..."

_Can't say I didn't try._

In between the quiet drive through country roads, blue eyes find themselves drawn to the sole passenger sitting shotgun. Nero holds back a sigh. He really is pretty. Deep honey orbs that you can get lost in, framed by thick dark lashes. Glossy black hair. His chin is sharp and angular, nose high and straight and lips with just the slightest pout --

Nero rips his glare away, appalled by his own act of ogling. Thankfully, the other party doesn't seem to notice.

_Get a hold of yourself._

In all 22 years of his life, Nero has never questioned his sexuality. He prefers large breasts, smooth curves. Also a bit of extra cushion never caused a problem. But now he is forced to admit that the person causing all sorts of disturbances in his dreams - namely, Avilio - hardly resembles his usual tastes. Hell, he's not even close.

Not to mention, this guy literally took his whole family to the grave. When Nero dwells on that thought, an intense wave of guilt crashes through his form, so much that he has to squeeze the steering wheel harder in order to feel his hands. Luckily, or maybe not, his mind starts to wander again. Which goes back to:

Avilio said he didn't want it but...why did the youth yank Nero's collar in? Surely he didn't think at that angle, at that distance, their lips wouldn't meet? He's also surprised at the level of naivety the youth has towards physical intimacy.

"Avilio..."

An automobile cuts in front of theirs from a side road, overturning some bushes and the like. The tinted windows are rolled back; there's gleam of metal --

Avilio pushes Nero's head under the windshield when half the glass shatters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAAAAA  
> sorry i had inspiration  
> this is a thanksgiving gift, and also because the last chapter took a whole month and is HELLA short  
> so yea  
> the story has come to a close  
> this is the last chapter, with an epilogue at the end  
> but rest assured because even though this fic is "completed", their story, Avilio's and Nero's, is endless.
> 
> Regardless, I'd like to hear what your final thoughts were for this story in the comment section below :D
> 
> (also, I wonder if I should start a sequel with just sugary domestic fluff aaa)
> 
> Thank you everyone who has taken the time to read this story. I hope you guys succeed in whatever endeavor you strive for, and perhaps see you in another ^^

 

He feels the sprinkle of glass through his coat, on his shoulders and down his back. Immediately, the car jerks. Nero glances up to catch the sight of Avilio madly steering the automobile to a side road. A few shots ring out from beside him. Nero gains control of the wheel and lets Avilio fire a few more rounds.

The other car is still in hot pursuit.

“How many more?” says Nero.

A resounding clap of thunder. “That was the last one.”

“Shit!” Cold hands reach into his pants pocket. Nero spares a glance over his shoulder and with one solid motion: _Bang! Bang!_

“Here.” Hands it over to the other man. Better to direct his attention to solely driving.

“Looks like they’re slowing down,” Avilio mutters. _P-tew! Tew!_ Metal casings lodge into the outer metallic shell of the car. “Or not.” He blows the smoke off the barrel.

The rear window is already a mess of glass, cracks sprawling over the remaining surface like the web of a spider. The upper half of the youth’s body sticks out of a side window while releasing his careful aim of bullets. And then Nero hears a dreaded sound. _Clink clink._

“They’re gaining on us.” Hazel eyes watch the approaching automobile in a slight panic. “Nero…”

“Hold on!” His eyes widen like a devil’s, lightning zipping through blue orbs. Avilio is already back in the car, gun discarded and hands desperately grabbing onto whatever sturdy thing they can find.

The car goes flying off a cliff.

As the back tires leave the road in a shriek Avilio watches in amazement how everything seems to slow in time. The sun is shining brightly above. The lake shimmers blue below. A few gulls break through the skies, feathers tumbling down, down, just like the car. _That's strange._ Golden eyes are half lid, closing softly. _Didn't think we're near the ocean._

And then they are underwater.

The force of the car hitting the surface of the lake is almost enough to knock a person out. Thankfully, he's still conscious. Avilio struggles to kick the door open and succeeds but.

His eyes search for his companion and widen in shock. Nero seems to be unconscious. Back hitting the roof of the car and chest impaled with pieces of glass. From the looks of it, he must have been propelled into windshield. Bubbles escape from his lips. With the last of his strength, Avilio drags Nero out of the car. Fearing for the worst, he covers the other's mouth with his own and blows what's left of his own energy into it.

Up on the cliff road a black automobile parks by the edge. Two men in dark coats step out. Surveying the water below for a couple minutes before getting back into the car and driving off. The cliff's unofficial name Deadman's Lookout isn't just for show.

By the time Avilio and Nero reach the surface their pursuers are already gone. Even while coughing and lungs feeling like they've withered away, the youth carries his companion to the shore. Nero's lips are blue. His own are pale and cold. Leaving no time to spare, he once more places his lips on top of Nero's, pinching the other's nose and blowing into his mouth. With a shiver, he places a palm on top of another over Nero's chest and does pumping motions. Then back to CPR. Then back to chest pumps.

"Come on!" His actions are growing frantic. Pupils darting left and right in a near spasm. Shuts tightly. "Please!"

And then a gurgle, followed by a spurt of water from cold blue lips.

"Cough cough cough."

The world seems to be a mesh of bright blurs and Nero finds it hard to focus his sight. His chest feels like it's about to explode. As he continues coughing, a string of saliva hangs from his chin. Two palms press into the earth. He brings himself up and catches the sight of Avilio. Finds it hard to breathe.

The youth is staring at him like he's seen a ghost, honey eyes wide. And then, they tremble.

"H-hey..." Nero's at a lost for words. Avilio's kneeling right in front of him, eyes red and...is that _wetness?_  Sure enough, he sniffles, wiping the tears off hastily with the damp back of his sleeve. Doesn't really help much in hindsight.

"Avilio." He reaches out but his arm is swatted away before it can make contact.

"Shut up," the younger man snarls, though missing its usual fervor. Lips quivering and covering his face with his hands. "Don't look at me."

It is at that moment that something takes over Nero's body, urging him to wrap his arms around the other and pull him close. Avilio freezes in his embrace. Then starts struggling.

"Don't --!"

"Pipe down," says Nero, brow slightly creasing and he sighs. His voice comes out low and soft. "My head's pounding." He rests his chin on Avilio's shoulder.

A cool breeze rolls by, and one by one the blades of grass around bow over. Nero can hear the quick beat of the younger man’s heart. Feels his own throbbing in sync to the rhythm.

"You nearly killed us."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You drove the car straight off the cliff who does that?"

"Mmm."

Up above is the unusual view of gulls dancing in the skies. Nostrils pick up the salty stench of an unseen ocean.

"No regard for your own life." A dull punch on Nero's back. "Idiot."

"Yep, that's me."

"Are you even listening?"

"Sorry. Kinda...sleepy." 

Time passes slowly, although in reality less than a minute has gone by. The last Vanetti is contemplating when to address his injuries when a voice shatters his reverie.

"Nero," the hands around his back squeeze tighter. "I think there's something's wrong with me."

In just a couple moments the embrace is finally broken. Nero takes in the uncertain look to the younger man's face, forehead creased and hazel eyes averted. Deep within his heart, he knows. He knows, yet he needs to hear it for himself:

"What do you mean?" Nero brings a hand to Avilio's cheek. Lightly positions it so that his eyes are angled with his own.

His face is flushed a bright, delicious pink.

"I, I didn't hate it."

"What didn't you hate?"

 _Ah, he's gotten even redder._ The elder man slinks nearer unconsciously. Avilio bites his lip.

"K...kiss..." A fire suddenly erupts in those golden eyes. "Stop laughing!"

"I'm not, heh heh, laughing."

"Liar. Don't look at me."

Avilio says that, but it's impossible for Nero to peel his eyes away. His low, heartfelt chortles fill the surrounding space.

"Ok ok, I'll close my eyes just for a little bit. But you have to do something for me in return."

The other man flashes him a skeptical look. "Like what?"

"You see, my memory's gone a bit hazy. Must be the whole crashing into a river thing. I'd like a reminder."

"Reminder..."

"Mhm."

It's just a soft brush of the lips. Barely a peck. But at the end of it the younger man's face is reminiscent of a tomato. Prompts a wide grin from the other.

"Hm, I don't hate it either." 

His companion is speechless.

By chance, blue eyes catch a white cloth object floating on the surface of the lake. It's the shirt he got for Avilio.

"I guess it was a waste after all." The article of clothing floats away as he breaks into laughter again.

With two strong arms Nero unbuttons his coat and pulls his shirt over his head. He feels a heated gaze on him, before it’s quickly whisked away. Huh.

"This is all fun and games but, I think I'm about to pass out. Now," he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what's to come. "Care to help me get these shards out?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

It hurts like a bitch but he finally has the foreign objects removed. Avilio takes to decimating the last of his shirt to use as a makeshift bandage. Luckily, he is able to grab that article of clothing from the lake. The youth is even able to dive in and retrieve their rations bag from the car. What a guy.

Because of the uncertainty of whether the pursuers would return, the two youths trudge on another kilometer from the large body of water. They set camp in a shallow wood.

"This sucks." Nero lays down on the dirt, limbs sprawled out like an eagle's. There's the birth of a few blisters on his feet from the wet socks. Rubs them gingerly.

The campfire casts an orange glow among the shadows. Avilio routinely adds a few sticks in to stir the flames. He's mostly dried, but just moments ago he had the look and demeanor of a wet cat. Nero fights back a laugh.

"They probably won't be back." The voice is smooth, like silk bindings. "Probably think we're dead."

"Hope so," chuckles Nero. "Although I do welcome the exercise."

Blue eyes narrow ever so slightly. Now that the car has submerged, they'd have to cover the remaining distance by foot. Which is a dreadful turnout. In fact, Nero's already feeling his head spin from the thought.

"Avilio," the elder man turns to him, eyes flashing with a hint of mischievousness. "How do you feel about hitch-hiking to New York?"

"Is that a code for grand theft auto?"

"Whichever floats your boat."

"Deal."

He feels his lips break into a wide grin. Chest feeling all giddy. It's not a long conversation, it's not even half a minute in length, but for some reason Nero feels like a lot is conveyed. Promised. 

 _This journey._ Nero takes in the stars, the spiraling galaxy, above. The youth by his side. There's a small content smile on the other's lips, just a hint of flush on those cheeks. 

_I wonder how it'll play out._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

A loud whistle shrieks out from the harbor. Two youths, one of twenty-two years and the other not yet twenty-one, board the steamboat _Maryliane._ It’s destination: France.

“Nero, hurry up.” The younger of the two scowls at and tugs his companion up the ramp, the latter who is too busy eyeing a beauty behind them.

“Let me just, admire - woah!” Nero is yanked back into the entrance of the steamboat by the collar. A chuckle escapes from his lips. “Aren’t you full of energy?”

“You’ll lose your ticket if you’re not alert.”

“Nonsense it’s right --” Gloved hands pat the inside of his pockets but leave empty. "...here." He shoots his gaze at the man beside him. Sure enough, Avilio is holding his wallet and pack of cigarettes with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Hey, no fair,” Nero whines.

Pretty soon, the last passenger boards the ship. The pretty lady also boards, but is soon lost in the crowd. Not that Nero is looking. Or, rather, dares to.

Not long after, Avilio leans on the metal railing. Back a bit hunched and head resting and propped up by his hands. The cool sea breeze teases soft dark locks, giving him an ethereal siren-like appearance. Nero shuffles closer next to him.

“What are you looking at?”

“Lady Liberty.” Avilio wets his lips with his tongue after uttering those words. “It’s ironic how we’re finally free after leaving the symbol of freedom behind.” With that, he removes his elbows from the steel railing, and instead grips it with his palms. They’re a bit red from the cold.

“Mm, you’re right,” says Nero, placing a gloved hand on top of Avilio’s. He watches from the corner of his eyes how the youth stiffens for a second, then softens. The tips of his ears in full bloom.

A lot of things happened in their final month of travel.

“Nero.”

“Hm?”

“There are many things I still don’t know.”

“As long as you’re still alive, you have time to figure it out.” He takes the bare hand underneath his and squeezes.

A low mumble. If Nero wasn't so close he would have just missed it.

“Hm? Did you say something?”

“What if I never figure it out?”

“Don’t over think it.” Reaches out to flick his forehead. Avilio scowls, rubbing the sore spot. “And besides, you’re not alone, are ya? There’s a great, seasoned warrior by your side.”

“All I see is a lazy, frivolous Casanova.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be cheeky.”

 _Ah._ Nero throws an arm around Avilio. Breathes in the musk of the youth next to him, a silly grin spreading on his face.

_This is probably how it feels like to be reborn._

_/Fin./_


End file.
